Changing Tides 《COMPLETE》

Chapter 35

A/N: I apologize for the long wait since the last update. Haven't had much free time to write. I'm also going to hand out a second apology for not responding to all the comments from the last chapter. Please know that I read each and every one of them, and I appreciate those who take the time to leave them.

So without further ado, here is the next chapter of Trey's dramatic love life. Thank you to all who have patiently waited for this chapter to be posted and continue to read. I appreciate it.

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Chapter 35

"So what do you have going on the rest of the day?"

Roland shouts the question across the lawn as he gracefully tosses another bean bag towards the wooden box. It skids across the surface before gently falling into the hole for another three points in his favor. Damnit. I knew Roland was good at Bags, but up until now, he's never been good enough to beat me.

I bounce my bean bag around my palm, clutching a beer with my free hand. My knees bend and I lean forward, tossing the square bag into the air. It skids across the surface of the opposing board before thumping onto the grass behind it.

"Son of a bitch!"

A tuft of grass leaps into the air as I kick at the ground. Without looking at him, I can feel Roland's teasing eyes following the start of my mini-temper tantrum. He knows how competitive I am and silently revels in it. The bastard.

Last summer the two of us played a round of golf at the local country club. He claimed he wasn't very good, but I should have known better. By the eighth green he had a seven stroke lead on me.

Seven stroke lead.

He didn't at all seem fazed that I was getting more and more pissed off. But by the time we reached the eleventh tee, my frustration status had successfully morphed into a real-life version of Happy Gilmore. If I remember correctly, I even lost a pretty damn good putter when I heaved it into the lake next to the course.

I grit my teeth and reach down to grab another bean bag.

"Clearly you've been practicing," I shout back.

Roland shrugs and gracefully sends another bean bag in my direction. Once again it glides across the surface and neatly falls into the hole. For another three points...and the win. My fingers tighten around the pliable bean bag in my palm.

"I think that's game," he shouts.

"Fuck you!"

Roland brings his own beer to his lips and smirks. It's the same reaction he always gives me. Subtle enough to egg me on, but not provoking enough to push me past the point of no return. As I stalk towards him, he pulls the beer away from his lips and his smirk darkens.

"Is that an offer?"

I open my mouth but nothing comes out in response. Is he...is he flirting with me? I'm used to him talking shit and egging me on in his own, sophisticated, indirect way. But flirting? It's the first time I've seen it in the context of our prior 'normal' friendship.

Well, shit.

I'm used to seeing him smirk ten shades of smug every time he wins and I shout my inevitable 'fuck you' in the bitter realization that I've lost. Has he always wanted to ask that flirtatious question in response to it, though? Just the thought makes my stomach flutter. I think back on the many, many times I've bantered with him over the years when the two of us competed. How could I have been so blind?